cowboy country

11/03/08

We have come west from the Caribbean. Back in Spanish Nicaragua. We have landed in a little village in the mountains. All the men sport thick moustaches. Lots of cowboy boots, cowboy hats and cowboy shirts. Just the saloon is missing. We take a motorcycle taxi to a private reserve just out of town. The lodgings are very basic. A wooden building with dark windowless rooms upstairs, the bathroom around the corner. The kitchen downstairs billows smoke up to us. There are thick blankets on the single camp beds. The smiling housekeeper cum cook gives us comforters as well just in case. The dueño is surprised to see us. He is heading down the road soon and warns us that there will be no food tonight for us as he is not prepared. Nonetheless, Urania, the cook, finds us ample food for lunch and supper as well. She lives here with her two young children. Her husband left her 6 months ago. She had gone into the bigger town to work but found it too hard with the children. She has been back here for a couple of months cooking and cleaning. The man who takes care of the farm, takes us for a walk up into the reserve. He shows us coffee plants in different stages of growth - from sprouts to full grown trees. The plants grow in patches surrounded by forest with occasional banana plants here and there. We cross over streams, rocks and dry mud. He fashions 2 sticks with his machete to make our descent easier. On our return, the cold shower is a good shock. The coffee I drink at noon was harvested right here. It has a wonderful flavour but keeps me awake much of the night.

In the morning we take the bus into town. Moustaches and cowboy boots everywhere we look. We put our bags at the local hotel. I was hoping for an upgrade in our lodgings. But the room is the same windowless wooden box with 2 single beds and cracks in the walls for light. The bathroom this time is down the wooden stairs next to the kitchen. The sink is piled with the day's washing. Hmm. When I mention that it is so far from the room, the señora brings me a plastic container.

We head off with a young guide to climb to the local lookout. We pass the gold mine. They are using this antiquated process with 3 huge rocks turning round and round. It grinds the ore into a slurry which will be passed thru some kind of sieve to retrieve any gold. We pass a big cow shed. We are in grazing country. We climb the steep hill to the outcrop of white rock. Green countryside and mountains all around.

On our retrn to the hot dirty town, I decide that the accomodations are just too rustic for me. One night had been enough. We collect our things and go downstairs to wait for the bus. The owner pretends to be miffed but she has a lovely smile. She and I sit and talk in front of her hotel. Business is slow, she says. Only tourists and workers from away can afford to eat at her restaurant. She has lived here all her life. She has never climbed to the lookout. Is it pretty? She gives me a mango to eat.

The 1:00 bus never comes. We take the 3:30 bus which is packed solid. We sit on the 2nd to last seat in the back, the one over the back wheel. We take turns sitting with our knees in our chest on the wheel seat. It is a long 2 hour trip down the mountain. To Juigalpa with clean starched sheets, feeble air con and private bath. Just lovely.